A Day In The Life Of The British Government
by vaticancameos221b
Summary: A short little writing experiment starring everyone's favorite politician. There is no planned followup to this drabble.


A's voice travels through the intercom and into the office.  
"Sir? Your brother and his assistant are here to see you."  
"Send them in… A?"  
"I'm going by Anthea today, I'm brunette again."  
"Right, Anthea… send them right in." I sit back in my chair and close my eyes and rub my temples. I'm so tired of the constant visits by Sherlock these days. Its been a while since I've seen John in person though. Of course I watch the cameras I managed to hide in their flat, but I haven't spoken to him since the day of the funeral, even then he barely talked. He was so angry about Sherlock's apparent death and the fact that I sold him out. I supposed I deserved it, telling Moriarty Sherlock's entire life story and then causing him to jump off that building, life was so dull sometimes.  
But they were reunited now and Moriarty was dead so John's feelings towards me had softened considerably. He still didn't entirely forgive me, seeing that Sherlock was badly injured in the process but some kind of miracle made him heal completely and leaving him with absolutely no brain damage and not even a slight limp, I am forever grateful for Molly Hooper's skills in nursing. Thankfully, he didn't need any surgery so we were able to keep the knowledge that he was alive secret until my secret service had caught Moriarty's accomplice, Sebastian Moran, and killed him. I didn't feel guilty about it, I mean there are worse ways to die than a bullet in the head.  
"Hello brother, dear. How are you?" I look up to see my childish brother standing in the doorway, behind him is John. I sigh.  
"What do you want? And why the hell are you wearing that bloody hat?" He's wearing the deerstalker he had gotten as a gift from the London police force after he solved a particularly hard case. When he had first acquired the hat he didn't think much of it, but here he is standing in the middle of my office wearing it.  
"Ah, yes, I forgot to tell you. There seems to be a high number of reporters following me so I decided to use it to cover my face, you know how some writers turn out to be, they turn out to be your worst enemy that eventually tries to kill you, they just completely changed their identity to do it. No big deal." He grins at me, the ends of his mouth nearly touching the high, pointy cheekbones on his thin face. I clench my fists to keep from punching him, he's an idiot for leading all those stupid reporters to the front door of my very private office building. If he weren't my brother I would punch him square in the jaw right there and then.  
"You still haven't answered my first question, what are you doing here?" He'd better get out of here soon before I kill him on the spot.  
"Just felt like coming around so say hi to my favorite brother, Mycroft." I cover up my eyes with my hands.  
"Get out, NOW!" I yell, loudly enough that they get the message and run out the door. Right before they leave, I catch John's eyes briefly and read the expression. The message surprises me, they plainly say `I forgive you`. They rush out of the room, leaving me to thoughts.

Its surprising how similar my brother and I really are. Contrary to what people believe, I am just as smart as Sherlock. Our personalities are similar as well, but I've been told we hardly look alike. He's shorter than I am and his hair is dark and curly, while mine is lighter and straight. His grayish-blue eyes read people while my icy blue ones intimidate people on first meetings and, for some people, all the time (quite useful if one works in politics). On numerous occasions, all that I would rather forget, I have been told that my nose is pointier than his and I'm the fatter one.  
When Sherlock faked his death to save John he went to me for help. I hid him and kept him updated on John's whereabouts and how he was taking the tragedy. I also cleared his name and hunted down his enemies. A month later he was reunited with his assistant and back living at 221B, thanks to my help. He did act thankful for a while, but now he's gone back to working with the police force, and also gone back to being ungrateful to me.  
A few minutes after Sherlock leaves, another visitor is announced over the intercom, one that I did not expect. A one Gregory Lestrade comes into the office.  
"What do you want?" I glare at him, sending him the message that he is far from welcome in my office. He looks down at the floor, I can tell he hasn't slept in the last forty-eight hors and is in great need of it, but what would he be losing sleep over?  
"Er, Mr. Holmes, Sir? I-I've been getting some emails… at first I thought they were nothing but… I don't think Sherlock's safe, Sir."  
"What? Why not? Does he know what you think?"  
"No, I've been getting emails from an anonymous source and… Sebastian Moran isn't dead, Sir. You killed his right hand man."


End file.
